


Born Gold

by ridorana



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Blood and Gore, Flashbacks, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Pining, Psychological Trauma, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:14:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25194520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ridorana/pseuds/ridorana
Summary: That night, Vaan listened to the far-off ghosts of Nabudis. Lives taken by the deifacted nethicite, they were left to wander between heaven and hell. It made Vaan shiver. Would they haunt the barren halls and hills of their kingdom until the end of days? Would they ever be laid to rest? Did they die knowing they were loved?Did Reks?
Relationships: Balthier/Vaan (Ivalice Alliance)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 47
Collections: BalVaan Week





	Born Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Written for BalVaan Week 2020, day three: "Bloody Handkerchief". Thank you endlessly to my pals who edited, and helped me make it what it is.
> 
> My recommended song for this fic is ["Broadback" by Baths.](https://bathsmusic.bandcamp.com/track/broadback)

If one were to ask what happened, Vaan wasn’t sure he could say. He didn’t know what happened, only that it did. 

A forgotten fusillade trap laid by Baknamy had been their first undoing. A crack of wood and rush of wind followed, and the Antares emerged quickly after from the Salikawood’s thicket. Destruction was contagious in the Salikawood; drawn to the chaos, a Malboro then joined the fray. Everything fought everything in the smoke. Caught in the middle of it all, Balthier and Vaan stumbled through the tangle with a flurry of bullets and steel. 

If one were to hear this tale, they’d say Vaan must have been quick to avoid the carnage. He wasn’t. He was just lucky. It was luck that kept him out of the Mantis’ violent fury, it was luck that kept the Baknamy preoccupied in turn, and it was luck that he’d been just barely out of the range of the Malboro as it released its deadly miasma. 

Balthier, on the other hand, hadn’t been so lucky. Trapped between a slew of fiends, his telltale gunshot preceded a curse. Vaan thought he heard Balthier shout his name - his voice cut through the air in a twisted shout, startling Vaan in its abrupt halt. It was so hard to  _ see anything _ . The Malboro did little to ward off the Antares despite its deadly breath, and their white spines sliced through white smoke. Then there was red. So much red.

“Balthier!  _ Balthier  _ !”

Compassing through the smoke, Vaan found Balthier laying off to the side in a twisted heap, eerily still. Around them, the fiends raged; confused, blinded, and sapped by the Malboro’s toxin, they tore at each other like savage beasts, and Vaan had no time to figure out how or why or when. With strength he could only find through panic-borne adrenaline, he picked up Balthier, and ran. 

Vaan didn’t spare a moment to see if anything was chasing them; if he had, he would have found that the only thing in pursuit was the trail of blood pouring from the gash in Balthier’s chest. The sight of him so strangely limp in his arms made Vaan’s vision blur. 

Out of all the horrors they’d seen thus far in this journey, this one felt most dire, here on a botched hunt in the Salikawood. With speed he did not realize he possessed, Vaan brought them both to the last safe haven he could remember: a forest hut off a beaten path. 

Upon arrival, there was no time to waste. There was no time to gingerly peel off a shredded doublet, or clean off blood so quickly turning black. There was no time for proper magick form or cast distance. On his knees against the mossy underfoot, Vaan saw the way Balthier’s last stuttering breath halted, and threw every ounce of himself into an Arise spell that shook the forest floor. Balthier’s body jerked up like he’d taken a thunder spell to the spine, and Vaan nearly flew backwards. Trembling in the aftermath, he watched, frozen in horror until finally, finally, Balthier began to breathe. 

Vaan could do nothing but the same, collapsing onto the ground with a gutted heave. Arise was always a spell that left him drained even under ideal circumstances. Normally there’s a formula to it - a cast distance; both feet anchored shoulder-width apart; a strong staff to channel the energy. To summon such magicks from one's own hands was a feat only the most desperate would resort to, and Vaan was paying for it. His head pounded like a Jaharan wardrum as he gasped into the earth that smelled of iron and petrichor. 

Outside the bungalow, the Salikawood feigned ignorance to their plight. Birds chittered in the trees while dust motes floated aimlessly in the slanted sun among the flora. Over the deafening thud of his heartbeat, Vaan couldn’t hear any sign of danger in pursuit of them. Maybe amidst the smoke and confusion, the Salikawood’s own savagery tore itself apart. That would be just fine with Vaan.

For now, they were safe. And for now, Balthier was breathing. But there was much to be done, and only so much daylight left. Vaan felt heavy when he pushed himself off the ground. That Arise had completely gutted him, and there wasn’t a drop of mana left to summon even a Cure to cushion Balthier any further. Instead, Vaan resorted to all they had left: a hi-potion, and a tuft of phoenix down. 

_ Really?  _ He blanched, heart sinking to the pit of his belly at the options.  _ That’s all we have? _

Vaan cursed, though it made sense, at least; they’d been on their way out of the Necrohol from their successful hunt when this entire disaster happened, and like hell if that place didn’t drain a man dry of every curative in the book. This wasn’t an emergency they accounted for when taking the bill posted in Balfonheim yesterday.

“A hi-potion and a phoenix down, huh,” Vaan said aloud. It was helpful to hear the sound of someone’s voice, even if it had to be his own. Looking down at Balthier, he sighed. “Guess I should probably clean you up first.”

Vaan set himself to the task of removing Balthier’s doublet and shirt. The caked blood glued the garments to his body, and Vaan saw no other option than to slice it from his person. Vaan was no tailor, but it was easy to tell this couldn’t be salvaged; it could only be finished off. The sound was heavy and dull and tedious as he sliced through the gilded leather along the incisions already inlaid by the Mantises. Vaan visibly cringed. He could only imagine the tongue-lashing he’d be sure to get once Balthier woke. 

Though in a way, it was something to look forward to.

Peeling off the shorn leather vest only revealed yet another page in the story of this carnage. Balthier’s poet shirt was a deep red, blooming from his chest and soaking every fiber down to his stained sleeves. The only thing that kept Vaan together was imagining Balthier’s reaction in less dire circumstances; the wrinkle of his nose, an aghast, theatrical look of dismay, and perhaps even a caricature of a faint to really drive it home. It kept Vaan’s mind off the grim reality.

There was nothing left to salvage once Vaan freed Balthier, save for one thing. His handkerchief, though just as bloodsoaked as the rest of him, managed to avoid the rent of the Mantis blades. It sat neatly folded in the breast pocket of his shirt, crisp as the morning it had been pressed. Vaan traced the embroidery on its edge like braille, where gold gave way to red. 

He stared down at the silk. Each crease in it formed neat, straight lines that ran to the hem. It still was warm in his hands from where it pressed against Balthier’s chest, between his vest and the shirt. Vaan imagined that before all of this, it smelled of leather and gunpowder and sandalwood; all the things he’d come to associate with Balthier, all the things that would keep Vaan up at night, curious and wanting. The thought made blood of Vaan’s own rush to his cheeks. Hastily, he pocketed it, and laid the rest of Balthier’s garments over the edge of a carved-out windowsill. 

Stripped of his clothing from the waist-up, Balthier lay bare for Vaan’s scrutiny. It was somehow not worse than he imagined, but seeing it with his own eyes was different.

The wound was sealed, but barely. Balthier’s skin looked like snow in the bungalow’s shade, mottled with blood the color of night. The sight of him like this had Vaan feeling weak; the worst he’d ever seen Balthier was momentarily knocked-out and barely a hair out of place to show for it. That same man was now a tapestry of devastation, and Vaan took deep, even breaths to settle down. This would take a clear head, and a calm temper. And probably a bunch of other things he’d have to figure out, but first, the blood.

Fresh water was not hard to come by here. At least the Salikawood was good for something. It appeared they were in some sort of a gulch, and it sent little streams trickling down around the bungalow and into the nearby mire. 

“I know Fran could probably do better,” Vaan said, washing away the blood, “but she decided to ditch us for Penelo. I hope they’re having more fun than us.”

Balthier’s silence was deafening. Lowering his voice an octave, and giving himself the worst-best Archadian impersonation he could muster, Vaan spoke for Balthier to fill the eerie quiet.  _ “A hare in a behemoth’s jaw would be having more fun than us right now, Vaan.  _ ”

“Good point, Balthier, good point,” the role of Vaan, starring Vaan, countered.

He poured from his waterskin over and over again until it washed pink. As he watched the blood trickle away into the soaked earth, Vaan wished he could wring it back out into Balthier, for so much had gone to waste already. In the end, it wasn’t the best job Vaan had ever done, but eventually he saw flesh fade into view beneath a sanguine sheen. 

The naked wound made Vaan’s stomach somersault, even without the blood. It was a deep diagonal slash from Balthier’s left shoulder down to his right hip. In the final dregs of sunlight slanting into the gulch, Vaan spread the hi-potion over it as a makeshift salve. And then all too soon, it was dark.

Vaan performed the basics that Basch had taught him and Penelo, were an emergency like this ever to occur: find shelter, find water, light a fire, set traps, and wait for help. The first few were easy enough. It was the waiting that felt like hell. It all would have been a lot easier, and probably even  _ fun  _ , if he didn’t have just the company of his half-dead mentor (or...whatever Balthier had become as of late; Vaan didn’t exactly have the word for it yet). Everyone else that could help were off on their own hunts across Bancour and Dalmasca. Vaan felt useless, sitting against the wall of a bungalow as night covered the forest in darkness.

Without thinking, Vaan took the handkerchief from his pocket - still folded and bloodied from where he’d taken it from Balthier’s vest - and held it fast in his hands to fidget. 

“Huh?” A gentle _ tink _ of metal against wood rattled and rolled across the bungalow’s floor. As soon as Vaan realized what had fallen, he dove across in a blind panic to grab it before it fell between the cracks. Relieved, Vaan looked down at his palm. Ashe’s ring was a brilliant flash of gold in the dark night. He sat back on his haunches and stared at it a while. There was something unearthly about it, this close to the haunted ruins of her fallen husband’s kingdom. Despite it having been nestled in the folds of Balthier’s handkerchief, it was strangely cold. 

_ “Don’t worry, I’ll give it back. As soon as I find something more valuable. _ ”

A strange but familiar ache in Vaan’s chest twisted his face into a frown at the memory, and it all came back to him.  _ Why the ring? _ Vaan wondered as he stared down at it. It hadn’t been lost on him, that moment in Rabanastre’s hideaway - Balthier, with a voice dripping like honey from wax, demanding Ashe’s ring in exchange for his aid. Vaan hadn’t known what to make of the feeling that had hollowed him at the sight, and still didn’t now. All he knew was that it left him hungry for something he couldn’t name.

That exchange had followed Vaan for a while, a buzz gnawing in the back of his mind. Such a strange thing to take from her when Balthier could have asked for anything else. He could never quite swallow the lump that formed from that day of undeniable envy, childish and petulant; it grew every time he saw them close. The Pirate and the Princess. Was that what it had been all about? Not just collateral, but… something more?

In the quiet of the Salikawood’s night, Vaan sighed as he rolled the ring between his fingers. Tale as old as time; Vaan was sick of it, but what could be done? It’s not like he could exactly compare to a would-be queen. There were no stories about pirates and petty thieves. Nobility and orphans. Leading men and lost boys. If it had been different...if Vaan had been Ashe, he would have nothing to offer Balthier. He had no ring. He had no riches. He had no gold. He had no - well, whatever  _ else _ Ashe could offer him that Vaan vaguely wanted to, in turn. It had left Vaan at a loss, following the trail of Balthier’s footsteps; hoping for a glance his way, wishing for so much more.

What would it take for  _ something more valuable _ to come along?

Vaan looked over at the pirate in question. Everything Balthier did, it seemed, was with such subterfuge and calculative reason that, more often than not, was lost on Vaan. He was a puzzle with scattered pieces and too many jagged edges. Vaan wanted so badly to piece them together and see what could be made. 

For now, maybe piecing back his  _ body _ would be a start.

“Fran is gonna kill me if you don’t wake up,” Vaan commented. Predictably, he received no response. “I know she’s been waiting for an excuse.”

There was much to be done, but none if it had to do with nightfall. Exhaustion washed through Vaan as the day’s chaos finally came to a halt. It all seemed like it flew by so fast, catapulting him through the hours until he was left to wonder what they were even filled with. For now, Vaan held onto the facts: He was alive, Balthier was alive, and tomorrow he’d find help, figure out the nearest teleport crystal, and get them to safety. 

Across from him, Balthier slept, his head pillowed on Vaan’s rucksack. The firelight casted distorted shadows across his ribs and face, hollowing him out in strange places. He looked too close to a corpse. And this close to the Necrohol, Vaan didn’t doubt they weren’t alone. 

There were so many ghosts here; Vaan could feel an energy prying through the thicket, teasing a threshold older than time. Gooseflesh peppered his skin as he shivered, and he moved closer to Balthier until they were side-by-side. He watched the steady rise and fall of Balthier’s chest, counted his breaths, wondering if he dreamt and of what. 

Vaan looked down at the ring, and then at Balthier. What could he offer a pirate, if not gold?

“G’night,” Vaan said. To the ghosts or to Balthier, it mattered not. Neither could hear him. Neither would say it back.

On the first day, all Balthier did was breathe. Really, it was all Vaan could ask for, given yesterday, but it didn’t stop him from trying to rouse the pirate every now and again with a gentle calling of his name. His only answer was the bird atop the bungalow, singing a pretty little lie. Vaan didn’t feel well enough himself yet to cast anything of value; searching deep into the well of his mana, he came up dry. They’d have to do this the old fashioned way.

Upon fresh scrutiny in the new day’s light, Vaan reapplied the remainder of the makeshift salve over Balthier’s chest. He couldn’t tell if the wound looked better today, or if the dappled sunlight just softened its severity. At least there was some color back in his tone, a rosy-warmth slowly filling his skin to an echo of his old self. That same color bloomed to Vaan’s ears when his touch lingered over Balthier’s heartbeat, losing count of the pulses as he thought of all the times he’d wished for a proximity like this with him. 

Why it had to be under these circumstances, Vaan didn’t know. Maybe if he’d jumped sooner, things wouldn’t have gone this way. The notion twisted in Vaan’s chest, making it ache with a word he could not name.

But more than ghosts, more than the ring, Vaan was haunted by something else - a moment that felt like both a second and a lifetime ago, shared between him and the very man he nearly lost today. 

_ It was supposed to have been a simple task of gathering sunstones to open an ancient path in Golmore; some hare’s chase for a particularly lucrative hunt worth the trouble. The day had been going just fine, with the party split into pairs. But before Balthier and Vaan knew it, the sky opened up, curtaining the plains in sheets of heavy rain.  _

_ “I’m bloody soaked,” Balthier griped under the shelter of a shallow cavern. They were somewhere on the border of Ozmone and Giza. Vaan sat on the damp earth, knees pulled up to his chest. He drew idle shapes into the dirt with his dagger and shrugged. _

_ “We can wait til it passes. It’s not the Wet Season, so it’s probably just a quick thing,” Vaan offered, peeking up at him. What was supposed to have been a glance turned into a stare. Silhouetted by the rainclouds behind him, Balthier’s shape was so distinct. The breadth of his shoulders, tapered down to a cinched narrow waist framed by billowing sleeves, only to curve outwards just enough to flirt with the shape of his thighs - strong and thick and-  _

_ “See something you like, Vaan?” _

_ “Huh?!”  _

_ That very silhouette standing at the mouth of the cavern cocked a curious hip, hand on it, and--damn. He was just nice to look at, okay? _

_ “You’re staring.” _

_ “Well--” Vaan stammered before looking back down at the dirt. “You’re standing right in front of me.” Oops. That didn’t come out right either. There was playing dumb, which Vaan could do easily, or there was coming clean, which he really wasn’t prepared to do right now. Or ever. He had been perfectly content to hide his stupid crush until -- until, well, he didn’t get that far, usually. Just until. _

_ “Would you rather I turn the other way? I've a hunch that even if I did, your eyes would follow regardless.” _

_ “What’re you talking about?” _

_ And just to prove a point, Balthier turned away, facing the plains and leaving Vaan to the familiar fact that he was just as nice to look at from the back as he was the front. Damn him. When Balthier turned his head to the side to speak, even his profile was a pleasing rhythm of distinguished lines that Vaan wanted to slot his own against.  _

_ Rain filled the silence between them for only a moment, and then Balthier broke it with a chuckle. _

_ “Vaan, you can only play dumb for so long, even with a face as fair as yours; I know you're more clever than that. When you’re ready to stop pussyfooting, you know where to find me.”  _

It had been an invitation that chased Vaan across Ivalice, where he continued to  _ pussyfoot  _ from Dalmasca to Archadia and everywhere in between. Vaan wondered how much longer he could keep up with this game. Sky Pirates weren’t exactly known for sticking around. When their journey was over, Vaan wasn’t sure if he wanted to be left behind in the wake of jet streams with nothing but regret. That exchange, coupled with the one involving him and Ashe, had Vaan tugged in two different directions and it left him dizzy.

It had taken more time than he cared to admit to realize the draw he’d felt to Balthier was one not of aspiration, but attraction. He remembered the night he confessed this very revelation to Penelo, who only could reply in the kindest, softest pity she could manage: _ “I could’ve told you that one, Vaan.” _

Vaan had wondered if it was obvious to anyone but his best friend, but what could he do about it - tell Balthier himself? The mere idea filled Vaan with ...something. A lot of things - a tangle of  _ goods _ and  _ bads _ and everything in-between. Balthier’s invitation offered during that rainy Giza day had kept Vaan up at night, hot and aching in his hand, left wanting even in his self-forged afterglow.

He was not unused to wanting. But it was scary to decide on what to chase. Above all else, that stumped Vaan the most.

But he wouldn’t know if Balthier didn’t  _ wake up.  _

When even a phoenix down did nothing to change the pace of Balthier’s breath, Vaan realized it was far more than just the bodily wound that took Balthier. He searched the chaotic memory of yesterday and recalled the ambush’s most unexpected visitor - the Malboro King. Of course. Its breath was lethal enough even to the most hearty, well-equipped travelers… Vaan learned that the hard way from his own run-ins with the bastards. The last time it happened to him, he was out for half a day.

No wonder Balthier wouldn’t stir. Vaan groaned in frustration; an Esuna was too far off in his own state, and even then, he hadn’t mastered it completely. At best, he could get rid of Sleep, Poison, and Confusion. Who knew what else sifted within Balthier’s bloodstream, planted there by toxic spores. Only time could ebb away such ailments when magicks and items could not.

It was late morning when Vaan checked on the traps he’d set outside the shanty. They remained intact, and did their job to keep any wandering fiends at bay. Standing beneath the Salikawood’s canopy, Vaan finally assessed their location, looking left and right. He recognized where they were, but it was little comfort; the nearest Crystal was at least a two-hour walk. And this close to the Necrohol, neither travelers nor moogles would pass their way.

Still, Vaan gave it a shot. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouted for help.  _ Somebody, anybody, is anyone there? Hey! Hellooo? HEY! _

Nothing. 

Vaan’s mouth twisted sourly. Fat chance that anyone would be having a stroll in this feral place, a stone’s throw to Nabudis. He’d be lucky if his ruckus didn’t lure another horde of Baknamy their way.

It was his own growling stomach that beckoned Vaan back inside, digging in his rucksack for a spare piece of jerky lingering at the bottom. The cured, spicy meat only brought to light just how hungry he was, and when Vaan stepped outside again, dagger in hand, he sought to fix at least one of his problems.

That night, roasting a Wyrdhare over the fire, Vaan listened to the far-off ghosts of Nabudis. Lives taken by the deifacted nethicite, they were left to wander the barren halls and hills of their kingdom. It made Vaan shudder. Would they haunt until the end of days? Would they ever be laid to rest? Did they die knowing they were loved?

Did Reks?

On the second day, around mid-afternoon, Balthier stirred. It was just a shift of his leg, but it sent Vaan shooting up from his half-nap to hover around him like a mother chocobo. 

“Balthier?” he asked, hopeful. “Balthier, can you hear me? C’mon, budge up.”

Vaan knelt beside his body, but all too soon he fell still again. His handsome face looked so  _ calm  _ ; the only comfort Vaan had was that at least he didn’t look to be in pain. 

_ What if he doesn’t wake up?  _ The fear sprung from Vaan like a ravenous weed, seizing his nerves in hot ice. Suddenly, in that limp body beneath him, Vaan saw Reks, and then a blinding, blinding light.

_ ‘Reks,’ Vaan said, sitting down in the same chair he always had, ‘you won’t believe what happened today. Actually, you might. It was classic Penelo. So, we were in the bazaar, and...’ _

_ In the modest infirmary, Vaan’s voice was the only thing that filled the sterile air. Just like yesterday. And the day before. And the day before. It would be the same tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.  _

_ Until… until… Reks woke up. The doctors said he’d wake up. They didn’t know when, but they said he would. Their unreadable faces and undeniable Archadian accents had Vaan doubting their every word despite his need for them to ring true.  _

_ “This will act catalyst to the remedy of his cataonic state,” they would say whenever they’d interrupt Vaan’s visits to inject Reks with some substance that made him twitch. It never did help. It never meant to. Reks had only played puppet long enough to testify against Basch. Then he withered away, and Vaan could do nothing but watch. _

_ In a way, he was awake, technically; his eyes were open, but that was no comfort when he did not stir, did not speak, day after day after day. But he was not beyond a tether, Vaan hoped. Penelo said Vaan should talk to him. ‘He can probably hear you,’ she’d offer. ‘Tell him stories. Read him books. I know he can’t respond, but he’s there, Vaan. And he loves you.’ _

_ Vaan took Penelo’s words to heart. She wasn’t the only one who had the suggestion, but it took hers to spring Vaan forth into visits that became alive with his voice. He’d speak until the sterile air rasped his throat, and then he’d come back the next day to do it all over again. Reks never moved, never spoke back, but Vaan filled what little life he had with songs and tales, until his brother was ashes and Vaan was left with all his clothes and no reason to wash them. _

_ After that, Vaan never sang again.  _

Curling his fingers into the dirt, Vaan tried to anchor himself to the present, where the air smelled of earth and his eyes were wet. He lowered himself down until his foreheads touched Balthier’s, and trembled when he exhaled his name. This couldn’t end the same. Vaan wouldn’t let it. 

“Balthier. Please,” Vaan begged him quietly. “Please, ‘Thier.  _ Please _ . You gotta get up.”

He grabbed Balthier’s hand and curled his fingers around the rings there, bringing it to his cheek to feel a warmth other than his own. He imagined those hands on so much more than just his cheek, and sighed.

“Y’know, if you don’t wake up, I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say I can have the _ Strahl  _ . Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her. Though the name is kind of lame. I was thinking  _ The Fat Bangaa _ . You haven’t taught me to fly her or anything, but eh, I’ll wing it. Fran can be my partner. I’ll wear all your dumb vests and frilly shirts and look way better in them. So you should probably think about whether or not you want that to happen, Leading Man.”

Forehead pressed against Balthier’s, Vaan closed his eyes. It was easier to find his next words in the dark, somehow. When he took his next breath, it stuttered in his ribcage like a fledgling’s wings.

“...Because...because if you don’t wake up, I’ll miss you, okay? Balthier, I... I never thought about what it was I really wanted until you asked me. You probably don’t even remember it, but I never forgot. There’s a lot more that I wanna do with you. A lot more that I--that I want to tell you. Like how much you mean to me, and how much everything you’ve taught me has meant. I want to learn more. And ...I want something else too. But you’ve gotta wake up to know what.”

On the third day, it rained. Water leaked through the thatchwood onto Balthier and Vaan hurried them both to a dry corner.

The deluge was long. Vaan pillowed Balthier’s head on his leg as he watched hares dash nimbly along the soaked bridge slats outside; even the forest itself seemed to retreat from the downpour. His hand rested on Balthier’s bare, warm shoulder.

The rain was a small comfort. Vaan had always loved it. As a boy, he would sneak off to the Plains during the wet season, only to come back covered in mud. Reks would always get scolded for not watching him closely enough, but Vaan knew he was not to blame. Even as a child, Vaan had been a hard target to keep an eye on. 

He smiled at the memories. There were safe pockets of his life Vaan could look back on and enjoy. Before the plague took his parents, before the war took his brother, Vaan was a happy child. He had lived to cause a ruckus, to scrape his knees, to splash on the water’s lip of the Nebra as fast as he could. Ever more outspoken than Reks, Vaan sought to argue every point, to fight bathtime with tooth and nail, to loathe naps and pilfer snacks. It was a good life, small though it was. He didn’t realize it then, too young, of course, but that was the one time in his life when he had  _ everything _ .

Then he lost it all. The years blurred together, and Vaan hated, and Vaan ached, and that was all he could remember knowing how to do. He’d forgotten what he wanted, because it hurt to remember. Instead, he flaunted ambitions of piracy: dreams of airships, of gil, of treasure, of gold, of  _ things _ . 

Oddly, it took the very sky pirate below him to ask the question no one before had dared to:

_ ‘What is it you want, Vaan? What are you looking for?’ _

Balthier’s words had followed Vaan from Rabanastre to Jahara; Eruyt to Omisace; Archades to Balfonheim; Balfonheim to here. The truth was, each time Vaan thought about it, all he found was that deciding what to want was a scary thing.

Looking back now, Vaan didn’t feel too different from that sandy child of the past. The only thing that seemed to have changed was that baths weren’t so bad anymore. Naps were still on thin ice, though he could be swayed. 

Childhood, Vaan realized right then, was perhaps not something left behind, so much as buried. What he wanted were days like those back. He wanted sun on his skin, bare feet in the sand, a place to call home, and a sky that didn’t echo of war.

What Vaan wanted was whatever he felt when he looked at Balthier.

In Giza during the rains, the nomad children would sing a song. Vaan had learned it with them, back when he was a Rabanastran kid covered in dirt and twigs. He couldn’t forget it if he tried. Over the pitter-patter of Mandragora feet retreating from the downpour outside, Vaan sang.

_ Dance, Giza raindrops! _

_ Tap your little feet. _

_ The earth will awaken _

_ When they hear your beat. _

_ The toads will hop, _

_ And the moogles will dance, _

_ And the seedlings will grow, _

_ As the giza hares prance. _

_ Dance, Giza raindrops! _

_ Fall down from the sky, _

_ And when the sun’s out _

_ We’ll say our goodbyes. _

_ The grass will grow tall, _

_ And so will the flowers. _

_ We’ll see you next time _

_ O Giza rain showers! _

On the fourth day, Vaan was in the middle of regaling to Balthier’s motionless body the time he had tricked three imperials into buying a sack of Chocobo manure instead of ammunition, when the magicks of the Malboro finally released Balthier from their grasp, and he woke with a groan. 

Vaan halted his story mid-sentence. “Balthier?”

Balthier’s response was a dry rasp of breath like wind through the desert, and Vaan scrambled to snatch the waterskin, holding it to his mouth. “Drink. Please.”

His eyes were half-lidded as he quaffed by Vaan’s steady hand, and when he spoke again, it was a gasp. “What happened..?”

Vaan floundered, gaping down at him. 

“Uh--uh, Malboros. Mantises. Traps. You--Balthier, you got hit really bad,” Vaan said in what felt like the understatement of the century. 

“Hit by what?”

“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and just say  _ everything  _ .”

Balthier stared up at the ceiling of the hut; it was all he could do. There was a faraway look on his face, and for a while, they both said nothing. Vaan couldn’t help but stare. He was afraid if he blinked, Balthier would disappear.

“How long have I been out?” Balthier eventually asked, a distance in his voice. The cut on his lower lip needed tending to, a crude sickle-scab that cracked when he spoke. Vaan’s eyes lingered on it.

“Three days.”

Balthier’s brows rose. “You’re serious.”

“As dead as you almost were.”

“We’ve been here for three days?” 

“Yeah.” Vaan nodded. 

“The others?”

“Hopefully on their way. A moogle passed by earlier - first time I’ve seen anyone since we got here. I asked him to send for help.”

Balthier was alive, and that was all Vaan could ask for. But the Arise did little to resurrect his cavalier self. He looked so small from where Vaan knelt above him. Conscious, but a whisper away from a corpse. Though open, his eyes were heavy and dark. Only then did Vaan see the ghost of stubble peppering up the line of his jaw, teasing the edge of his sideburns. His structured coiffure wilted, a wispy mess that curtained his forehead in a jagged fringe. 

And yet, Vaan still thought him so handsome.

Balthier was not impressed. In the dappled light of the hut, those dark eyes pierced Vaan’s. “I loathe to imagine the sight I make, but it can’t be any worse than your gawk. Some more information would be nice,” he huffed, though the tone was weak, as though bringing words up from his chest was a challenge. 

Vaan’s head shot up from where they lingered at Balthier’s mouth, feeling hot, suddenly. “I thought you were dead. The blood--the blood was black. And there was so much of it, I…” he tried not to sway at the memory, and his tongue felt like a wad of cotton. “...The Arise worked, but only just in time. After that, I just waited. I just waited until you woke up. The nearest teleport crystal is at least eight miles south. I couldn’t leave you. So I stayed.” 

He closed his eyes, gripping the fabric bunched at his bent knees. It was strangely hard to look at Balthier now that he was awake, now that he could stare back and make Vaan feel all the things he could not name.

“So you stayed,” Balthier echoed. He seemed less upset about it all than Vaan. He peered around the hut. “Love what you’ve done with the place.”

The jest, however small, washed relief over Vaan like a deluge. Unprepared for the hot tears stinging his eyes, he scrambled to wipe them away. Subtlety was never his strong suit, though, and it didn’t miss Balthier.

“Vaan…?”

_ Shit,  _ Vaan thought.  _ Shit, this wasn’t supposed to happen. _ But he thought of Reks, in his final moments. He thought of Balthier’s body, crumpled on the moss, terrifyingly still. He thought of death and how familiar he was with it and how he didn’t come all this way to lose anyone else. He thought not of last words said, but last words heard.

What did ghosts take with them when they left?

“Balthier,” Vaan choked, his voice tighter than he wanted - he was supposed to be the strong one here, dammit, he would not be coddled, “I thought you weren’t gonna make it.”

“The Fates had it in me that I did, as well as your fast cast. Now,” Balthier jutted his chin towards his tattered vest curtly, “Dry your tears. My kerchief is in my vest. You’ll have to excuse the half-arsed chivalry. Take it as an IOU.”

“About that,” Vaan sniffled, reaching in his pocket to pull out the bloodstained silk. Crumpled in his hands, it looked like a rose. “I tried to wash it, but…”

Balthier lowered his head back down and when he sighed, even that sounded stuttered. “That was my favorite one,” he lamented.

And then he was asleep again.

It was dusk of that day by the time they were rescued. Balthier was half-conscious again, at least enough to protest bitterly about a teleportation crystal to Balfonheim. “I’ll not have anyone see me in this state,” he griped. “Take us instead to Phon. The hunter’s camp will suffice.”

“Though it may suffice” Fran countered evenly, unphased by his short temper, “the manse has beds, baths, and quarters of your own.”

Immovable object met unstoppable force as Balthier’s pride faced his love for comfort head-on. 

“Fine,” he grumbled. “But we’re taking the back way.”

Vaan found that Fran wasn’t exaggerating about the manse’s many comforts. Reddas saw to it that his guests were not left wanting for anything in his grand, sprawling oceanside home. On the east end of it, extended out over the sea by thick beams, stretched an entire wing that had more than enough rooms to privately accommodate their whole group and then some.

It was outfitted with everything Vaan could ever imagine needing: wide, open tubs; cushy beds with too many pillows; towering windows that viewed the Naldoan Sea; a grand common room where the ocean crossbreeze hinted of salt; oversized fluffy bathrobes softer than chocobo down. 

After becoming well-acquainted with a bath, Vaan was lounging in a very comfortable bed, in a very comfortable robe, and was feeling, all things considered, very comfortable. A plate of unfinished fruit and cheeses sat on the bedside table and he nibbled at it occasionally, stretched back on the sheets with his head hanging off the edge. The world was flipped as he stared out at the stars above the water - or in his case, the water above the stars. 

A guy could get used to this.

It was their second night there, and Vaan already knew he’d miss it whenever they were off again. A full belly, a soft bed, and good food was just what Vaan needed after half a week of sleeping on the bloodsoaked dirt. Even his mana finally evened itself out after a fresh Elixir, leaving Vaan at total ease to laze about like a coeurl in what felt like a castle. 

A small knock at his door had Vaan peeking up from his half-hanging position off the bed, and he hastily tightened the robe around himself, realizing that maybe he was a bit  _ too comfortable.  _ “Yeah? Uh--come in.”

But unlike his usual visitor, it wasn’t Penelo who opened the door. Padding softly inside, Balthier was dressed at this hour in simple nightclothes, and looking, much to Vaan’s relief, miles better than when he last saw the man. Seeing Balthier alive and well had Vaan swinging his legs over the side of the bed to greet him, beaming openly. 

“Balthier! You’re finally up!” 

“About time, if you ask me. Only complaint is no one is up at this hour to clap for it, and what’s the fun in that?”

Vaan filled the void with a rousing applause of his own. He was awake! And walking! Vaan wanted to run and embrace him had he not seemed a bit out of sorts. Instead, Balthier met him at the edge of the bed. He still appeared tired, but there was an echo of his normal self when he smirked at Vaan’s applause and gave a mock bow. Without his jewelry or gilded vest, Balthier looked so plain, standing there in simple cotton the shade of olive. 

Not any less handsome for it, though.

“How’re you feeling?”

Despite the size of the bed, there was little distance between them when Balthier sat next to Vaan. This close, and Vaan could smell the aftershave on his face and the unmistakable scent of clean skin. It made his heart beat faster.

“Considering I was out for the majority of the time otherwise, I’ve no basis of comparison, but safe to say I’m much better.”

“What about the wound? What’d the doctor say?”

“Not pretty.” He sucked in a breath through his teeth, grimacing. “She didn’t pull any punches when she said it would likely always be there.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“Well, better than being dead, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” Vaan agreed readily, dizzy at the idea. “Yeah.”

“And you, Vaan? Are you all right?”

“I managed to escape most of the stuff that hit you. Just got lucky, I guess.”

“You are fortune’s favorite fool.”

The fondness in his tone was not lost on Vaan; that cadence which left him wanting. He averted his eyes, suddenly shy. “Oh, I almost forgot. There was this.” Vaan reached out to the bedside table and pulled open the drawer. “Figured you’d might want this back, or Ashe would kill you.”

He handed the ring over to Balthier, who took it with a soft laugh of relief. “You’ve truly saved my hide twice, then. I feared I’d have to forge another as a dupe. Though, if any town could do it, it’d be this one.”

Vaan couldn’t hold it in another moment. “Why the ring?” he blurted. “I mean… I was thinking about it for a while. And I couldn’t figure it out.” If it was more than just collateral, Vaan wanted to know. He wanted to know so he could stop holding his breath every time Balthier looked his way.

Like right now. Balthier’s thoughtful expression made Vaan feel all sorts of things - things that he didn’t want to stop feeling if they could possibly, even a little, be received. “So you’d been wondering, eh?”

“Yeah,” Vaan admitted. “I figured maybe it was... more than just a down payment.”

“Make no mistake. It certainly was.”

Vaan winced, feeling suddenly like a bird shot from the sky. “Oh.”

“It was also a leash.”

“Huh?” Now he was  _ really  _ confused. Balthier inspected the ring in the dim light and sighed.

“Such a plain little thing, isn’t it? Hardly fit for a princess, but who am I to judge. Unassuming though it is, it served an ugly reminder for her; the downfall of her kingdom and thus, her lust for vengeance, a quest for power. One that would be even more devastating than Vayne’s.” Balthier’s voice sounded far as he spoke of the ring, scrutinizing it at a distance as though it was a specimen long-feared by man. “It didn’t slip by me, the way she’d fidget with the thing every time she rattled off justification behind her quest for the deifacted nethicite. The longer she wore it, the more she’d be drawn to such destruction. She was starting to sound like my father.” With a swift motion, Balthier closed his palm around the ring and slipped it into his pocket. “She is better than that. I just had to remind her. This was a start.”

Vaan stared at Balthier a while as realization dawned on him. “So… it wasn’t because you liked her?”

“Heavens!” Balthier guffawed, but he was still weak and it led to a cough. “That’s what you thought? I drove the nail into the coffin of nobility nigh six years ago when my father fell mad to power over all else. Think I’d chance a dalliance with royalty drawn to the same? Fine-faced though she is, I didn’t run from one cage simply to fall into another.”

To say Vaan was relieved would be an understatement. So it wasn’t what he thought - he could work with that. At the very least, he could sleep at night better. He had to laugh. “Dunno if Ashe would appreciate you insinuating she’s like your crazy father.”

“I would hope she comes to her senses soon.”

“I think we’re getting there. I believe in her.”

“As do I.”

A comfortable silence washed over them, and it surprised Vaan how easy it was to be with Balthier like this. It was so natural and so new all at once. He felt so much lighter now that the air had been cleared. There was a new hope in him now, one that he had been afraid to have for a long while.

“Fran filled me in, by the way. Told me everything. You did well, Vaan, handling the both of us.”

Good. Vaan was hoping that would end up being the case. He wasn’t sure he wanted to regale the entire tale again to Balthier. It had taken enough out of him just to report back to Fran.

While alone with her as the doctors locked Balthier’s body away to assess, Vaan told her that he’d been scared. He told her how alone he felt. He told her that he feared Balthier would never wake up. And when Fran had reached out to comfortingly squeeze his arm, she told him all would be well now, and sent him off to bed with her gratitude lifting great weight off his shoulders. 

But there remained one thing left to be done.

“How much is everything…?” Vaan tested.

It seemed she relayed it all to Balthier, because it was him who wrapped an arm around Vaan and pulled him close. 

“ _ Everything. _ ”

The embrace was swift, and Vaan felt so light and heavy at once. He did not need further coaxing to sink into Balthier’s arms, fumbling to return it until he couldn’t tell where they began and ended. 

“Balthier…”

“Thank you.”  _ Oh _ . Balthier was so  _ close  _ to Vaan’s ear. He tried not to shiver. 

“For--for what? Saving you? You don’t have to thank me, Balthier.”

“Would you rather I didn’t?” 

“I dunno. I mean, you’ve definitely saved my hide a couple of times.”

“That I have. I’ve lost count at this point. But after the story Fran told me of your efforts, I may be willing to call it even.”

Vaan screwed his eyes shut, and sighed a smile into the warm column of Balthier’s neck, reveling in that robust pulse thrumming against his cheek. He wanted to kiss it so badly. Instead he just brought his body even closer, despite the awkwardness of being side-by-side.

“Careful,” Balthier warned, voice tight suddenly. Vaan immediately relinquished his grip with a sputtered apology, but Balthier didn’t let him get away that easily, keeping them tethered together by a hand on Vaan’s. 

“No need to shy away. Just a bit fragile, is all,” Balthier assured. There was something eager in his tone that made Vaan curious.

That hand against Vaan’s didn’t move. If anything, he swore it only tightened. He wanted to hold it back. With a simple turn of his wrist, he did, opening his palm for Balthier to quickly intertwine their fingers. Whatever Balthier had decided before coming to Vaan’s room, it paired well with Vaan’s very desires. They fit together nicely, and Vaan couldn’t take his eyes off their hands. 

“Your rings are gone,” Vaan commented softly. 

“Only for now. Fran took what little was left on my person back to the Strahl when she went off to fetch fresh clothes.”

“Good call on her part. Your vest was toast.”

Balthier chuckled. “That it was. I’ve already sent word to my tailor here to finish up the pieces I’ve had on hold.”

“Sorry it was destroyed.”

“Better it than me, eh?”

“You can say that again.”

“Vaan,” Balthier said gently, and he wished he could live in the way his name sounded on the pirate’s tongue, “while I was knocked out, were you singing?”

Vaan’s head shot up from it’s place on Balthier’s shoulder, a flush rising to his cheeks. He was certain he resembled a Rogue Tomato, stark against the white of the bathrobe. 

“You--you heard me?”

“I heard someone singing, while I was caught in that strange blackness. Something about... raindrops,” Balthier trailed off distantly, as though trying to remember. “I could’ve sworn it was you. Unless it was a dream.”

Vaan’s eyes dropped to the floor, wide as saucers. Balthier had heard him. Balthier had heard his song! He thought of Reks again, and all the words he spoke and songs he sang that he feared fell on deaf ears during his brother’s last miserable motionless months on earth. 

Maybe Reks heard them after all. If he could have passed knowing Vaan loved him every day that he could, well...it was all Vaan ever wished for. All at once, relief bloomed through him like a Galbana lily, until it brimmed his eyes with tears. 

“Vaan?” 

“I...I’m so glad you heard me.” Vaan’s words fell through his lips without a second thought. He was so happy he didn’t even care that he was crying again. Balthier squeezed Vaan’s hand. 

“Damn--another moment without a bloody handkerchief. I really ought to keep these things tied to my wrist.”

Vaan jerked his chin to the chair across the room. “I kept your old one,” he said meekly, drying his eyes with the oversized cuff of the robe. The fluffy cotton felt so nice on his face.

“I didn’t mean  _ literally  _ bloody, Vaan. And--wait, you kept that soiled thing?”

“Uh-huh. It’s a souvenir.”

If Balthier disapproved of Vaan hoarding his bloodstained handkerchief like a security blanket, he did not say so. Instead, he caught Vaan’s gaze and his eyes spoke of an earnestness that matched his voice. “It was a cute song. You’ve a sweet little tenor on you.”

Heat rose to Vaan's ears again. “S’been a while. Y’know, since I sang. It was something to pass the time while you were out, but… I’m so--I’m so glad, Balthier. More than you could ever know.”

With his fingers slotted tight between Balthier’s, Vaan was strangely at ease. After those stretched days of horror and ghosts, this foreign tenderness was familiar somehow. 

“I’d like to know. But there’s one thing I’d like to know more, I think. Aside from your song, I heard something else, unless it was a bird. Ah, but I don’t think it was.” 

Instantly, Vaan remembered what else he’d said in that empty air which ended up being not so empty after all. It took just a moment for Balthier’s other hand to reach across the span of both of their bodies and cup his cheek, commanding Vaan’s gaze with no trouble; it was too easy for him to surrender every thought to those gentle hazel eyes. 

“Won't you tell me what it is that you want, Vaan? I’ve been waiting.”

It was now or never. Vaan took a breath.

“I didn’t know back then. I still don’t, not really. But I know it starts with you.”  _ And here. And now. _

Vaan leaned in, and kissed Balthier’s waiting mouth. And then kissed it again, and again, until he had Balthier pressed beneath him on the pillows and they were both breathless. Vaan was sure he looked like an idiot, grinning from ear to ear and drowning in a fluffy robe three sizes too big for him, but Balthier smiled back, lips wet from Vaan's own. 

“That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” Balthier asked, cupping Vaan’s cheek to feel the heat there. 

“Says you,” Vaan retorted, kissing that thumb teasing the seam of his lips. But Balthier was right. It wasn’t so hard. And despite all the agony he went through over it, Vaan couldn’t even be mad at how easy it was. He just allowed himself, for the first time since childhood, a happiness that reminded him of home. There was no room for regret anymore, or its ghosts. 

Hungry for more, Vaan captured Balthier’s lips again. He’d kissed people before, but it was never like this - in a sky pirate manse, with a sky pirate under him, in a sky pirate bed big enough to fit them both twice over. Vaan smiled, all teeth and dimples as Balthier kissed him with a low, throaty sound that made Vaan dizzy. The hand in his hair was a nice touch, too. 

“And for the record,” Balthier added as he parted only inches from Vaan’s mouth, “let me set two things straight. Were you to ever rename my ship to  _ The Fat Bangaa  _ , I would haunt you til the end of days. And secondly, you would not, in fact, look better in my clothes than me. Olive is simply not your color.”

“What is my color, then?”

In a kiss that made Vaan see stars, Balthier slotted the final piece in a puzzle that Vaan had long left unfinished. For years he had fumbled, never knowing how to make it complete, or what he was even trying to build.

Now he could see it all in perfect clarity, the picture laid bare before him as Balthier parted just long enough to say,

“Gold.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
